Amateur

1.

♫ Do You Wanna Touch Me by Joan Jett

It's not a habit of mine to congregate with the neighborhood residents, but I've got the best excuse. Well, for one it's scorching hot, and the only logical thing to do is take a dip in the community pool. Then there's him.

The town's celebrity, we all know the saying. All women want him, all men want to be him. What I want is much simpler. I want to dominate him, own him if you will.

The woman fawn over him, having no idea of the rumors that have spread about him. How he's wet behind the ears, a thirty-three-year-old man who's barely been touched. He's the irresistible man we only dream of.

When he showed up for his shift at the pool, it was hard not to notice him introducing himself. So polite and sweet with the kids, and I couldn't just avoid acknowledging his presence. He never brought anyone home, didn't have friends, and kept to himself. He also never properly introduced himself to his neighbors when he moved in. He was a mystery... and everyone loves a good mystery. Since our community was so small, word got around quickly.

To top it all off, the women of the neighborhood caught wind that he is divorced. Which meant fair game for the bachelorettes. While they saw a man who was open to marriage, I saw a man starting over and needing a break.

I could give that to him.

The women of the county came to the pool every morning, finding a seat with the perfect view of the lifeguard. It was painfully obvious they weren't here to enjoy the amenities.

He sat in his chair, keeping a watchful eye. Barely noticing all the eyes on him. He ignored them. His trunks hug his waist, with a thin white string that hangs over his bulge, covered with orange fabric. He's leaned back, exposing two fern tattoos. His wrist hangs delicately off the armrest, showing off his freshly painted nails.

Yellow and pink.

It suits him. I find him more scrumptious than before when my eyes land on his matching pedicured toes. It's endearing, a new color every week. A man who can keep himself clean and pampered is my favorite kind. They're always willing to get tied up and teased just a little more than the rest.

I feel dirty admiring him, he's only doing his job and I can't find the will to look away. He blows his whistle with force, lips suctioning down on the thick plastic. They're so pink and plump, I fidget in my seat ferociously biting my lip. Trying to find some type of distraction from the throbbing in my lower region.

"He's hotter than the sun, I'm burnin' up." The woman fans herself as she gawks. The group of three burst into a fit of giggles, catching the attention of the man who sat on the lifeguard chair.

"The things I'd let him do to me... are unholy!" Another woman whispers. I knew nothing of them, but their age and that they live a short distance from my house. While they're all in their late forties, I'm barely in my mid twenties. Twenty-three was the new thirty.

I do not sit and talk about what I want to do, I get it. The only way to get things you're interested in is if you do something about it. Besides, listening to them talk about what they wish they could do is boring me to sleep. I set my glasses down, stand to my feet and turn my attention to them. "Ladies, I'd love to stay and listen to you talk about fucking him, but the only problem is you're all full of shit." They gasp at my choice of words. "Do you kiss your husbands with those mouths?" A smile creeps on my face when the group of woman cover their faces with their big hats in shame. When I catch his gaze following me as I walk away, my skin tingles with excitement. His eyes travel down to my legs and up my body to my face. His breaks eye contact immediately when he notices I'm watching.